


Alone

by TheIceQueen



Series: Sam's blue book [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood Loss, Fear, Gore, Hurt No Comfort, Impala, Injured Dean Winchester, Injury, Inspired by Fanart, Major Character Injury, Nightmares, Pain, Post-Hell, Torture, Unconsciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 03:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13989591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIceQueen/pseuds/TheIceQueen
Summary: Dean is back from hell and Sam is on another one of his late-night-drives or what ever it is he's doing. So Dean decides to work this simple case solo, since it's near by and it has to be now.Dean is hurt bad.(Timeline: the very start of season four.)





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [No one is coming to save you...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12116661) by [Thruterryseyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thruterryseyes/pseuds/Thruterryseyes). 



> I've wanted to write this for five months now. Ever since i saw the piece -No one is coming to save you- by Thruterryseyes. Thank you for your amazing art, and I hope I did it justice.

He was shaking as he tried the door. The blood on his hand, made it difficult to get a grip, while holding the gun and he almost fell as it slipped of the handle the first time. He tried again but no luck. Of course, it would be locked. For a moment he stopped and leaned his back against the wooden door. His sight was getting blurry and it was getting more difficult to stay standing, but he knew that if he let go now, he would bleed out right there. He had to get inside. He didn’t know what was in the cabin but, there had to at least be something he could use as a bandage. He looked down. His other hand was not big enough to stop the bleeding from his side, but he didn’t dare to move it. He could feel the blood squeezing trough his fingers, and it would be pointless to start examining it now.

He pushed himself from the door with the gun and took a second to stand free. He only had one change of getting this right, he would most definitely pass out if he had to try more than once. He took a step back and a deep breath. Then he lunged himself, shoulder first, into the door. He tumbled into the cabin and landed face down with a breathless growl. Panting and pressing the right hand tighter to the wound, he pressed the hand still holding the gun and his forehead, to the floor trying desperately not to pass out from pain and blood loss.

_C’mon, you’ve been trough worse._

As the added pain from the fall, slightly and slowly subsided, he started being more in control of his breathing. He took a few deep breaths and rolled to his side. Pain shot though his body, and his eyes gave up on focusing. If he didn’t get up now, he wouldn’t at all. He needed to find something to stop the bleeding. Still not letting go of the gun, he pushed himself to a seating position. The pain got worse and for a moment he thought he was going to throw up, but the feeling of more blood coming out through his fingers, from the change of position, made him understand that he had to move now. There was no time to be sick. With a few deep breaths and concentrating on nothing else, he was able to see a bed not more than a few feet from were he was sitting. He got up on two knees and one gun and crawled over the floor, leaving a trail of read after him.

The bed was not soft or comfortable but all he wanted was to lay down and sleep in it. He knew however, that it would be the last thing he would ever do in _this_ life if he didn’t wrap up that wound first. The sheets would have to do. He used his teeth to start a cut, but it was difficult to rip the fabric with only half a hand, he didn’t think for a second that it was a possibility to put down the gun. Only, after half a sheet was ripped into long bandages he looked down at his would again. The jacket was not a big problem, but the buttons on the shirt proved to be a challenge. He cursed out loud and ripped the plaid shirt open. The movement made pain shoot through his entire body and he almost fell of the bed, before he got his legs under control again. The gun wouldn’t go through either sleeve, so he tugged it under his thigh. He had to keep it close and make sure it wouldn’t fall off the bed. The floor was too far away. He looked at his boots and wondered if he would be able to kick them off, he was not in any condition to bend that way, that’s for sure. It occurred to him that he had ho move his hand to get the shirt and jacket off the other arm and to bandage the wound. As soon as he lifted his hand he felt faint. Not sure if it was from the sudden added blood loss or if it was from the sight. His lover ribcage and stomach were torn. Three large gashes were splitting his skin. They were deep especially the long one going all the way to his side. It was too deep to leave untreated, but he couldn’t do anything about that now, he had to move quick to not lose more blood. From the blood on the floor and clothes he estimated that he was about half way from hypovolemic shock.

Wrapping his own wound was difficult, with the dizziness, shaking hands and his eyes starting to act up again. Then there was the pain. Every time he tightened the fabric, white glowing nails were dragged trough his skin. Finally, he’d wrapped the last of the improvised bandages around himself and grabbed the gun. He wiped it of in the other half of the sheet and laid slowly down on his back. He again wondered about his boots but decided it wasn’t worth the effort, however, who knew if he’d gotten all of them? He’d might have to leave that place in a hurry.

Satisfied that the fabrics were enough to keep him from bleeding out within the next hours. He shifted a bit to grab his phone out of his back pocket, now would be the time to call for help.

* * *

Twenty minutes and six calls later Sam still wasn’t answering. What the hell was he doing? Dean had noticed him disappearing from time to time after he’d come back from hell, but he’d brushed it off to having been alone for four months, now he wasn’t so sure. If Sam needed to be alone, fine, but bring the damn phone and pick up when your brother calls six times in the middle of the night! He’d call Bobby if they weren’t four states over. If he’d had Sam damn book he might could have found someone to help, but Sam always had that thing on him. 

_Dammit Sam! Where are you?_

There was nothing left for Dean to do than to try and get some rest. Sleep would be a bad idea, but if he needed to go out there to find Baby he had to gather some strength first. He needed to get his wound time to heal just a little. However, it would be the last resort, Sam would get there, eventually. He just needed to stay put and get warm. He was cold. That wasn’t good. He looked at the bandage, it looked like it was holding up, so he grabbed the other sheet and covered his body and even the boots. His head was starting to hurt, he'd been dizzy for so long that he didn't remember how his head should feel like, but he knew this wasn't it.

It was a fight to stay awake. His eyes became heavier by the second. He tried to find his pulse, just to check of he was getting worse. He knew he was, and when he finally found it, it was difficult to count. He started over, three times before his hand fell from his neck to the chest and he was out.

_The smell was the first thing he noticed. Burning._

_Second was the sounds. Screaming, begging, crying. Distant and near._

_Then the pain came to him. Bit by bit._

_His back was burning. His wrists and ankles were aching, and his lungs were sore from screaming. He wasn’t screaming, but he clearly had been._

_Everything was confusing, but still familiar in some way. He knew this._

_A hot blade sliced into his inner thigh and he screamed, ear-wrenching, and ended up coughing long before the deep and slow cutting stopped._

_He opened his eyes._

_Alastair._

_He was back in hell!_

_But, how? Why? Didn’t the angels want him for something? Would they just let him go back?_

_Alastair smiled and picked up a pair of pliers. He kneeled down, out of Dean’s line of sight._

_Dean twisted and fought the restraints to get away, but it was futile._

_The pain from his skin being pulled of his inner thigh, was making it impossible to even scream. He gagged and coughed and thought he would pass out, but that never happened in hell._

_His toes were curling up under his feet and his nails were drawing blood from his palms._

 

A gunshot brought him back to the cabin.

He halfway sat up and pointed his gun at the empty room. No one was there? What the...? The lamp on the nightstand were shattered so the gunshot hadn’t been a dream. He looked at the gun in his hand and pointed it in the direction of the lamp. He was pointing directly at a hole in the wall. Had he fired that bullet himself?

He looked around the room one more time to be completely sure. He was alone. He relaxed a bit into the bed but felt the mattress under him being wet. His hand made it to the bandage before his eyes did. He was bleeding, a lot. The nightmare must have made him shift around enough to have messed up the bandage.

He couldn’t stay here like this. How long had he been here anyway? He fumbled around and found his phone in the bloody sheets. He’d been out for over an hour. Still no word from Sam. He tried calling him again but no answer. That’s it. Sam had to be in more trouble than him to let this much time pass. He had to try to get to Baby. It was only half a mile or so, maybe. He wasn’t really sure how far into the woods he’d been, but he thought he remembered that the cabin wasn’t that far from the Impala.

He didn’t bother tearing up the other half of the sheet. He just folded it and tied it around the already bloody bandage. He put on his jacket and took it slow standing up.

_No need to fall over before the first step._

He left the bed muddy in one end and bloody everywhere else.

* * *

Dean couldn’t figure out if it were the blood loss or the pain that made his sight go all grey and blurry again. No matter the reason, it couldn’t be good. He’d found the road and was almost sure he had chosen to follow it the right way but now faith was slipping away from him, step by very slow step.

_Keep on going._

_You’ve spent forty years in hell. No way you’re dying on the side of a road from blood loss after some random hunt._

_Just to that tree over there. Small goals._

_C’mon Sam! Call the damn number._

He leaned against the tree.

_Don’t sit down. You won’t get up. You’re on your own._

He pushed off the tree and looked far ahead. Was this really the wrong way? He’d been so sure when he first got to the road.

_Okay, Dean. One more tree._

As he leaned against the next tree, he saw it.

_Baby._

Dean was smiling through the panting and gasping. He looked down. The wound was bleeding through the second bandage too. His hand was soaked again.

He almost fell over from disbelief when his phone rang. He fumbled to get it up. He could’ve sworn that it was Sam’s name on the display, but his eyes were not obeying. He barely dropped it trying to pick up.

“Sam?”

His voice was raw. He hasn’t used it in hours and he had been struggling to keep his breathing in order for just as long.

“Dean, are you okay? Where are you?”

Dean wanted to yell and swear but he didn’t have the energy. He didn’t have the air, and he certainly didn’t have the time.

“No. I’m… Baby.”

“I’m tracking your GPS. Hang in there!”

Dean slid down the ragged tree and impacted hard when he sat on the ground. He growled and exhaled deeply. He looked over his shoulder, Baby was right there.

_I found her. I made it._

“I’m right here Baby. We’ll just wait now.”


End file.
